Tom said, “What I can’t understan’s why that cop was so mean. Seemed like he was aimin’ for trouble; seemed like he’s pokin’ a fella to make trouble.”
Floyd said, “I don’ know about here, but up north I knowed one a them fellas, an’ he was a nice fella. He tol’ me up there the deputies got to take guys in. Sheriff gets seventy-five cents a day for each prisoner, an’ he feeds ’em for a quarter. If he ain’t got prisoners, he don’ make no profit. This fella says he didn’ pick up nobody for a week, an’ the sheriff tol’ ’im he better bring in guys or give up his button. This fella today sure looks like he’s out to make a pinch one way or another.”
“We got to get on,” said Tom. “So long, Floyd.”
“So long. Prob’ly see you. Hope so.”
“Good-by,” said Al. They walked through the dark gray camp to the Joad tent.
The frying pan of potatoes was hissing and spitting over the fire. Ma moved the thick slices about with a spoon. Pa sat near by, hugging his knees. Rose of Sharon was sitting under the tarpaulin.
“It’s Tom!” Ma cried. “Thank God.”
“We got to get outa here,” said Tom.
“What’s the matter now?”
“Well, Floyd says they’ll burn the camp tonight.”